ROSS HOUSE
The Ross house stood--_stands_, thank heaven!--on the north side of the
Common, between Judge Peters's and Madam Flynt's, its front windows
facing due south. The main body of the house is of brick, the two wings
and the portico with its Doric columns, of wood; all gleaming white,
with blinds of exactly the right shade of green. The front fence (Cyrus
has not done away with its fences; it would scorn to do so. "When I wish
to move into my neighbor's yard," says Madam Flynt, "I shall ask his
permission first." And Miss Almeria Bygood says, "I prefer to live _on_
the street, not _in_ it") is of iron, with chains and tassels
elaborately looped; the posts of white brick, surmounted by wooden balls
large enough for a child to sit on with some measure of comfort. The
gate, a beautiful affair of handwrought iron (a testimonial to Dr. Ross
from a grateful blacksmith) was made, one would think, to be swung on.
Near the bottom were four grapevine circles, into which two pairs of
small feet fitted perfectly; while the smooth bar across the top was
manifestly intended for the resting of dimpled chins and the grasping of
chubby hands. Then, its squeak! At the friendly sound, Kitty Ross
glanced down, and all her childhood came flooding back.
"Ah, Tommy!" she sighed. "Ah, Duke! We are too big now, even if you were
anywhere."
Then the door opened, and there stood Sarepta Darwin, just as she had
stood at similar home-comings all Kitty's lifetime.
"Come in this minute, child!" she said. "You had the life nigh scared
out of me. You, John Tucker, you'd ought to be ashamed of yourself, at
your time of life!"
"That's just it, S'repty," chuckled John. "I've outgrown the sensation!"
"Don't scold, Sarepta dear!" said Kitty. "I've come home!"
Sarepta snorted, and turned her head away. No one had ever seen a tear
in that wintry blue eye, and no one ever should. The idea!
"You're froze, I expect," she said severely, "speedin' like that in this
cold. Come in to the fire! Nelly Chanter's comin' to supper with you and
spend the night, but I thought you'd want to get your things off first."
Home! After all the wandering, all the longing: home at last! Kitty had
enjoyed much of the time abroad. Endless wonder, endless beauty; she
rejoiced to have seen it; but the place where she was born, the
countryside where she belonged, meant more to her than all the glories
of Europe and Asia. So long as her mother was with her, so long as
anything strange or fair could lift the languid head or bring a gleam of
light to the sad eyes, on they must go, wherever the brightest way
seemed to point: but when it was over, and the weary body which held the
gay, innocent, flower-like soul, was hid quietly in the churchyard at
Vevey, there was but one thought in Kitty's mind. The English cousins,
the kind Swiss friends, might plead as they would; they all wanted her;
it would mean so much to them if she would make her home with them.
Kitty thanked them all with tears, and took the next and swiftest
steamer for home.
A plain square hall, with stairs going up at one side; old prints on the
walls: Regulus and the Carthaginian Ambassadors, Cornelia, Mother of the
Gracchi:--Kitty had a loving glance for all: the very oilcloth felt
friendly under her feet. Had not Grandfather Ross laid it down fifty
years ago, when oilcloth was oilcloth, and not, as dear Father used to
say, brown paper and fish glue?
It was late January, but the Christmas wreaths still hung in the
windows, the fir boughs over the picture-frames. The mail-table, with
its scales and weights, the barometer, the hanging shelf where garden
baskets and implements slept the long winter away--Kitty's glance took
them all in lovingly.
"Fire's in the settin' room!" said Sarepta.
Kitty turned to the right, and entered the room she loved best in the
world. Shabby, Mrs. Sharpe called the sitting room of Ross House. If it
was shabby, no one but Mrs. Sharpe knew it. The rugs were worn, it is
true, the original patterns lost in a warm blending of reds and blues,
but they were still thick and soft, and only Sarepta knew of the mended
places. The wallpaper had not been changed since the memory of man. Why
should it be, when it was in perfect condition? And how much of it was
visible anyhow? Mellow, rich, warm: one sought for other kindred words,
feeling the friendly harmony of everything from the Piranesi etchings to
the books which lined half the walls and lay on every available flat
surface. The fireplace occupied most of one side, the fire leaped and
crackled behind the high fender--not so high as it used to be, Kitty,
when you and Tom "stumped" each other to climb on it and grimace at your
reflections in the round balls of the andirons. A leather sofa stood
before the fireplace: well! I grant that the sofa was shabby, but who
cared? Never was another, old or new, to compare with it in comfort.
Kitty sank down on it now, and stretched her hands to the blaze, and
made a little sound, half moan, half coo, of utter thankfulness.
Sarepta, erect in the doorway, hands folded over her spotless apron, had
the air of waiting for something. Presently Kitty spoke over her
shoulder, her eyes still fixed on the fire.
"She didn't suffer at all, Sarepta!"
Sarepta grunted.
"She just faded away quietly, like a flower. It was like--do you
remember how I used to put the hollyhocks in the little black pool,
under the trees? They didn't wither or crumple up, they just grew more
transparent, day by day, till at last they seemed almost to melt into
the water: it was more like that than anything else."
Sarepta grunted again. "Got your feet wet reg'lar every time you did
it!" she said.
"She knew she was going," the clear lovely voice went on, as if
repeating a lesson. "She asked me to--to leave her there, among the
flowers: she was so tired, she thought it would trouble her in heaven to
know that--it--was being carried about. And then--she said--'Go home,
darling! Go home to--Sarepta and John Tucker: they will--take--care--'"
The clear voice faltered, broke: Sarepta Darwin threw her apron over her
head and went away.
An hour later, a composed and cheerful Kitty was greeting Nelly Chanter,
who came in rosy and breathless as usual, full of tender incoherence.
"Darling Kitty! so heavenly of Sarepta to ask me to come! I _didn't_
mean to be--oh, Kitty, you are home again! I thought you _never_--what a
perfectly delicious kitten!"
All the embarrassment was Nelly's, and she did not quite know what to
make of the sensation, an unfamiliar one to Chanters; but she was, as
Sarepta said, the most sensible of them, and followed Kitty's lead
readily. The trunks had come, Kitty said; they wouldn't begin really to
unpack, it was too near supper time, but she must just open the little
leather one, and get out--come along!
Up the stairs they went, every step holding its greeting for Kitty,
every touch of the carved rail sending its little thrill through her;
round the turn, up to the landing, where the orange tree was in full
fruitage--one, two, three,--_twelve_ oranges!
"Do look, Nelly! Sarepta is a wonder, isn't she?"
Past the door from which the voice had always called as she went by,
"Kitty my Pretty! is that you?"--silent now; the door open, of course,
Sarepta knew enough for that, but not to be glanced at yet--not yet! So
into her own room opposite, where the fire crackled as gayly as in the
room below, and the curtains were drawn and the candles lighted.
The little leather trunk, being investigated, yielded up a lace blouse,
the most exquisite dream of a thing, according to Nelly, that ever was
seen. It couldn't be for her! no! It wasn't possible! Reassured on this
point, Nelly was overwhelmed. How could she ever, ever, _ever_ thank
Kitty enough?
"Hush, Nelly! it isn't half pretty enough for you. Tell me about
everybody! Your mother is well, you say? How is Madam Flynt?"
"Very well, except for her rheumatism. I saw her this morning: she sent
her best love, and hopes you will come in to-morrow. She can't walk much
in this slippery weather: she has been driving--" Nelly stopped
suddenly, with a queer look: one would say a guilty look.
Kitty, now in her white wrapper, brushing out her long fair hair before
the glass, and looking, Nelly thought, like a heavenly mermaid, did not
see the look.
"Well, she wouldn't be driving next door anyhow," she said. "I'll run
over right after breakfast. Let me see! I've seen all the dearest
people, except your mother and Madam Flynt. Wasn't it darling of them to
come to meet me? How handsome Miss Almeria looked! How are the Wibirds,
Nell?"
"Much as usual, I think. Melissa is poorly, but she keeps on at the
Library. I don't think she's having a very good winter. Poor Melissa!"
Nelly's rosy face clouded slightly.
"Wilson?" Kitty spoke low.
"Yes! pretty bad this winter, I'm afraid. Mrs. Wibird can't control him,
nor any one else except Mr. Mallow and Billy."
"How's Mr. Cheeseman?"
"Oh, just the same! all agog to see you, like every one else. I was in
there yesterday, and he was making every kind of candy you had ever
liked since you were a baby, so he'd be sure to have the right thing on
hand. And Mr. Bygood was so excited about your coming he got no nap
yesterday, and Miss Egeria was so worried! But Miss Almeria told her joy
was the best thing for the aged, so she cheered up. My dear, I think
you'll have to go and see them _all_ to-morrow, or they will all pass
away, and there will be no Cyrus left. _Kitty!_"
"Yes, dear!"
At Nelly's explosive utterance of her name, Kitty, whose toilet had been
progressing while they talked, paused, slipper in hand.
"What is it, Nelly?"
"Oh, nothing! that is--well, Mother just wanted me to say that we hope
you will come to live with us!"
"Why, Nelly!"
Nelly went on with a rush. "I know the house is small and crowded, but
just listen! The boys are _dying_ to have you, simply dying! So they
will sleep in the barn-chamber, and Zephine and I will take their room,
and you will have ours. We've got it all planned out, and the boys have
always wanted to have the barn-chamber, and they will fit it up
themselves, so you see it will be the most convenient thing in the
world, besides making us all so happy we want to dance whenever we think
of it. Now, Kitty, say you'll think about it? Of course, you can't
decide this moment, and of course the other houses are bigger, and you
may say some of them are lonely--the people, not the houses!--but you
_will_ think about it, Kitty, won't you, and remember that we spoke
first!"
Kitty's eyes were wide with astonishment, but full of affection.
"Of course I will, Nelly! Why, I never heard of anything so kind in my
life. Thank your dear mother a thousand times, and tell her--but I shall
tell her myself. There's the bell! Come along. I'm sure Sarepta has
pop-overs for us!"
Sarepta had pop-overs for them, marvelous efflorescences of brown and
gold, such as all Europe could not afford. Kitty exclaiming to this
effect, Sarepta grimly supposed they hadn't the faculty, and drew
attention to the creamed chicken and oysters, which were done the way
Kitty used to like 'em, though Sarepta presumed she'd learned
newer-fangled ways over there. Mebbe she wouldn't care. Reassured on
this point, she handed the fried potatoes with a challenging air--she
_knew_ no one could beat her there--and retired, to count over every
word Kitty had said and store it away for future need.
The girls fell to their supper as healthy, hungry girls should, and for
a time conversation was chiefly exclamatory, dealing with the wonders of
Sarepta's cookery. By and by, however, over the ice-cream which made it
a "party," as they exclaimed with delight, and later, sitting on the
sofa before the singing, purring fire, they had much talk, Kitty telling
of things she had seen abroad, Nelly wondering, admiring, exclaiming.
But always the talk would come back to Cyrus, the home of their hearts,
and to the people who lived there. Only two thousand, all told, this
including the three French families and the two "Polanders" down by the
little woolen mill which was our one "industry," so that between them
the two girls knew or knew of almost every one within the village
limits. It was a farming community, save for the comfortable
store-keepers, and the half dozen "tony" families as Mrs. Sharpe called
them, whose ample mansions, white or yellow, had stood about the Common
since Colonial days. Cyrus, her people were wont to say, did not _grow_:
she _remained_. I don't know just why they were proud of this stationary
quality, but they certainly were. For fifty years, the population had
hardly changed; or to be accurate, it had changed in so gradual and
regular a fashion that it always seemed the same. An accurate observer
like Judge Peters would tell you that once in about thirty years there
were more children: the schools were fuller, the wave of youth crept
slowly up till street and meeting house blossomed with youths and
maidens. Then, still gradually, the wave would recede: some of the lads
went away to work, some of the lasses married "out-of-towners"; the
numbers dwindled again, till in another thirty years another vigorous
generation would come shouting to the front.
"And _how_ is Savory Bite?" asked Kitty. "Does he still live alone?"
(This gentleman's real name was Avery Bright, but he was never called by
it.)
"My dear, yes! No one goes near him: where is the use, when he won't let
any one in? He did our garden last spring, and was just the same,
snapping your head off if you spoke to him. I have never been in the
house, though I have peeped in the window sometimes. It's always neat as
wax, I'll say that for Savory."
Kitty gave a little sudden laugh.
"I've been in it!" she said. "Tom and I got in one day through the
cellar; he had left the door unlocked. We got up into the kitchen, and
had a wonderful time. You know everything is painted blue, floor,
tables, chairs, everything? Well, naughty Tom had a piece of chalk in
his pocket, and what does he do but write on the blue table in big
letters,
"'Savory Bite,
Why not paint it white?'"
A silence fell: then Nelly asked the question which had been on her
tongue twenty times, and twenty times kept back.
"Where is Tom, Kitty? Do you know?"
Kitty looked straight at her with honest eyes.
"I don't know, Nelly. I haven't heard one word from him. I wrote," she
added, "when Father died--that was after Mrs. Lee's death, but I knew he
was in Omaha, and I had his uncle's address--but I never had one word of
answer."
If a writer could only tell all she knows! That letter, Kitty, in which
you poured out your sad heart to the lad who had been brother, playmate
and boy lover ever since you can remember, is in the pocket of his
uncle's spring overcoat, now laid away in camphor, till the first of
May, when he changes from winter to spring clothes, regardless of
weather. His uncle is not a villain, far from it; he would gladly
forward the letter, only he does not know it is there, nor will till the
above date.
As for Tom's letter to you, Kitty, written about the same time, I don't
know whose pocket that is in. He wrote it on board the steamer at San
Francisco, and sent it back by the pilot: but it never reached you. It
was a good letter, too. Tom knew nothing of Dr. Ross's death: full of
his own recent loss of a beloved mother, he thought of you in your happy
home with the two dear and delightful parents who seemed to belong
almost equally to him--almost! He told you of his great "job"; he begged
you to think of him whenever you had a minute to spare, but not to
bother about writing, because he had no address to give beyond the
Shanghai Bank, and he might not get back there for a year or two, from
the way the job looked at this end. But you would know he was thinking
about you, and you must be a good Cat and purr a great deal, and not
scratch anybody except Wilson Wibird. And when he came back,
Kitty--well, perhaps he'd better wait till then, but all the same you
_knew_ well enough, so he remained yours always, The Duke of Lee.
Yes, that letter would have comforted Kitty a great deal: it was a pity
she did not get it.
Tom, meanwhile, building bridges in a remote province of northern China,
supposed comfortably that she had got it, and thought of her daily with
great contentment.
So things go--sometimes! And here is Sarepta with the bedroom candles.